


Design

by startwithsparks



Series: MMOM 2013 [16]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:03:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a favor, Jehan offers to model for Grantaire, but their playful flirting quickly becomes something else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Design

The rose was already slightly wilted, but Jehan had the coin in his pocket and the young woman selling them in the street looked in more need of it than he did. He would have given her the money he had regardless, but she pressed the flower into his hand with a soft smile and a sweet _merci_ and continued down the street before he had time to respond. Now that he held it in his hand, it was more beautiful than any rose he'd seen in a long time, though it was darkening around the petals' edges and the leaves were torn and brittle. He held it delicately as he waited for Grantaire in the Musain, running the edge of his fingers over the velvet-soft red petals. He couldn't help but notice it bore a striking resemblance to the red banners hanging in holes and corners, even the dark stains of wear were the same, and it made him smile.

It was still early enough in the day that the cafe hadn't filled to the brim the way it often did in the evening. The usual customers were there, local men and women having whatever meal they could afford, some only drinking quietly. Most of the Amis were still in their daily classes, and Enjolras was somewhere in the city handing out his pamphlets and shouting his manifesto from atop his crate. That left him and Grantaire with the rest of the day to themselves and their respective art. Jehan could compose while he posed, and he liked having an audience as much as Grantaire did. What brought them together was what usually set them apart from their peers, a passion for something that few others could understand.

Perhaps that wasn't the only reason he'd agreed to help Grantaire, but it was the excuse he gave. He was always willing to help a fellow artist, no matter their craft, and since Grantaire had been so sweet in asking him for his help, he couldn't possibly deny him.

He expected Grantaire to be late, as often he was, but today found him attended by an unusually punctual air. Jehan smiled when he strode through the side door of the cafe, a leather satchel pinned under one arm and his cheeks red from the walk. He glanced quickly around the cafe, spotted Jehan, and nodded towards the stairs that led to the rooms above. With a faint smile and a nod, Jehan grabbed the rose from where it lay on the table next to him and followed. It seemed so wonderfully forbidden, ascending the twisted staircase a few paces behind Grantaire, as though they were sneaking off for some clandestine rendezvous. He enjoyed the thrill of it.

Grantaire seemed to have a standing reservation here, though he lived across the Seine on the little Ile. While it might have been easy to assume that he kept these lodgings to avoid having to stumble home drunk, Jehan understood that he wanted to be close to the action, all too afraid that he might miss something important if he strayed too far, because he often felt the same way. It was hard enough to get word to the other Amis without everyone being scattered like leaves through the city. So they stayed close when they could, and found a second home with one another.

The room was as sparsely decorated as all the others, but they had little need for more than the table and the bed it provided them. Jehan shuffled in behind Grantaire, watching as he shut and locked the door behind them, and adjusted the strap of his satchel over his shoulder. He'd never done this before, and he imagined that showed on his face as he stared back at Grantaire. The older man smiled and reached out to place a hand comfortably at the curve of Jehan's back.

"Will you undress for me?" he asked.

Jehan had the decency to blush, though he nodded and playfully pulled away from Grantaire. "If that's what you'd have me do," he teased, reaching out to press the rose into Grantaire's hand so he could start unraveling his scarf.

Grantaire smirked, "It's what you're here for, isn't it?" he asked.

He twirled the rose idly between his fingers, watching for a moment before he turned his attention on his satchel instead. He set it gently on the table, deft fingers making quick work of the buckles. Inside was a binder of paper and a wooden box filled with graphite sticks and jars of ink and pigment. There was also, unsurprisingly, a long a bottle of wine, its wax yet unbroken. By the time Grantaire had finished setting his things out and angled his chair towards the bed, Jehan was down to his socks and shirt, everything else neatly folded and laid aside. For the sake of modesty, Jehan pulled his socks off first and laid them aside with the rest of his clothes and then, with his back towards the other man, dragged his shirt off over his head.

"How do you want me?" Jehan asked, casting a glance over his shoulder.

Grantaire offered him a smirk and pulled the binder onto his lap, legs neatly folded. "However you're comfortable."

He dragged a hand through his hair and shrugged, "What do you plan on doing with me?"

"What would you like me to do with you?" he countered, laughing as Jehan heaved a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes. The corners of his eyes wrinkled as he grinned, "I could make you a distraught lover, wasting away from the pain of heartbreak."

Jehan knelt on the bed, "I'm certain you could."

Grantaire shifted the binder and paper back to the table, taking up the rose as he stood. "Lie down," he said, making his way to the bed.

Jehan did as he was told, stretching his body out along the length of the bed. Grantaire laid the rose down by his pillow and reached down to lay a hand on Jehan's hip. He slowly drew him onto his side, bunching the blankets up beneath him so he could rest there comfortably. It was an awkward position at first, half on his back and half on his side, but Jehan was more concerned with his own nakedness, and the fact that he could hide nothing from Grantaire. He continued posing Jehan, unconcerned with the expanse of flesh bared to him, bending his knees, placing his feet just so, resting one arm next to his head with his fingers curled near his hair. He picked up the rose again, cupping the petals in his palm, and gave a quick twist to liberate them from the stem. Jehan winced, but the destruction wasn't for naught. Grantaire sprinkled the petals over his body, slips of red falling in the hollows of his hips and clavicles, decorating the hills and valleys of his thighs and stomach, and resting against the shallow arch of a foot. The stem, deprived of its softer beauty, he laid delicately against Jehan's fingers.

"And now you've become the wasted lover," he announced, sliding his fingers delicately through the curls at Jehan's forehead, as if he were trying to put them in just the right place as well. "Can you stay just like this?"

"I should be able to," Jehan replied, having to stop himself from nodding.

Grantaire smiled at him and nodded, trailing his fingers away as he went back to the table and sat down again. After that he said little, but the sound of graphite scratching across the paper and the occasional thump of the wine bottle against wood let him know that Grantaire was still working diligently. After a while he even forgot that he was naked, falling into a relaxed calm. He could almost sleep like this if the occasional pause of movement and long stare from the other man didn't pull him right back into awareness. He tried not to be overly modest, but he knew Grantaire well enough to know that when his gaze traveled it wasn't for entirely artistic reasons. He was only a man as well, he couldn't deny that the thought of Grantaire looking at _him_ beyond the pose of a model excited him.

If he noticed, Grantaire said nothing of it. He kept working, more focused than Jehan had ever seen him. It was often said that Grantaire took nothing seriously, and perhaps he didn't, but he showed a kind of attentiveness here that spoke volumes for the man tucked away just beneath the surface.

Jehan didn't know how much time had passed when Grantaire dragged his hands through his hair with a soft sigh. It could very well have been hours, but time slipped by unnoticed by either of them. He leaned back in his chair and reached for the bottle again, tipping it up to his lips for a long swig.

"Have you had enough yet?" he asked, the bottle balanced on the edge of the table.

Jehan could feel Grantaire's gaze on him, and he lightly shrugged up one shoulder. "If you need me to remain like this longer, I can oblige..."

Grantaire smirked, "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

That was all he needed to hear to know that Grantaire had seen the steady increase of his arousal. It was difficult not to notice, he suspected, though he'd largely tried to ignore the pressure slowly building in his gut. Now that it had become the topic of conversation, however, he became all the more aware of the presence of his arousal, heavy against his thigh. Jehan wet his lips and nodded.

"And why shouldn't I?" he asked, "Knowing that you're going to make me into something beautiful, something that others will gaze at and appreciate as much as you do. What is it they say... that a man becomes immortal when he captures the attention of an artist."

Grantaire smirked, "You're already beautiful."

Jehan blushed warm, lowering his gaze demurely to the floor between them. He knew there were others Grantaire found far more appealing, and if he could get them disrobed and laid across his bed, he would, but he'd yet to penetrate that wall. But it was a compliment nonetheless and those weren't given lightly, especially by someone with such a keen eye as Grantaire. He'd been deprived of that particular attribute himself, but that seemed to make him all the more aware of it in others, and it became something that he dedicated himself to. Being in the presence of that was exciting in itself for Jehan, but he could only imagine that Grantaire had the capability to turn excitement into rapture if he wanted to.

"Will you do something for me?" he asked, and Jehan nodded. Grantaire set his binder and graphite aside, brushing the dust from his hands, and leaned forward to rest his elbows against his knees. "I want you to touch yourself," he said. "I want to see you when you're at your most blissful, and I want to capture it."

His blush darkened, but there was no hesitation before he nodded again. He didn't know what provoked him to consent to this, but Grantaire's voice was soft and reassuring, his interest more than enough to encourage Jehan to action. It was hard to refuse when he was in such a state already, and he _wanted_ it too much to allow modesty to interfere. He slowly untucked his arm from beneath the cushions supporting his head. He tried not to move too much, so he didn't ruin the position Grantaire put him in, sliding his hand between the dark red petals that decorated his skin to wrap his hand around himself. He was embarrassed to find himself already slick, but when he rolled his fingers back down his cock, Grantaire's gaze followed, rapt.

He'd never done anything like this before, and it was both liberating and terrifying at the same time. It wasn't long before he started losing inhibitions, concentrating on the feel of his own pleasure rather than the idea that he was being watched. He still sensed Grantaire watching him, but he was less distracted by it than he had been at first. Concentrating on keeping his body in position and keeping the petals in place was distraction enough. Which wasn't to say that he didn't love the idea of someone's focus being so completely on him or the knowledge that he was performing for someone else's pleasure as well, just that those things slowly blended into the peripheral until they seemed hardly worth noticing at all.

That was what Grantaire wanted, he imagined, to see Jehan at his most uninhibited, and he had every intention to provide that. He wanted to make a good picture, as good as he had been before, once he finished. So he sped his moments, hips shifting towards his hands and toes curling as he breathed a low moan, arching up off the bed. The muscles in his thighs tensed and his hips stuttered upwards as he spilled across his stomach, ruining a few more petals. He sunk down into the blankets with a sigh, hand still moving to wring the last of his desire from his body. Jehan wiped his hand off on the sheet and lulled his head to the side to look at Grantaire.

"Perfect," he murmured. "You've never looked more beautiful."


End file.
